


love and war

by Anyawen



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multiple Timelines, Mythology - Freeform, Story within a Story, additional relationships in inserted myth, mi6cafe rbb, minor character deaths in inserted myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 8,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29163762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: An equipment drop in front of a painting inspires James to do a bit of reading. The myth depicted in the art seems to have striking similarities to his life. He decides that as art imitates life, perhaps life should imitate art.
Relationships: 00Q, James Bond/Q
Comments: 73
Kudos: 50
Collections: 2020-2021 00Q Reverse Big Bang





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mr_quartermaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_quartermaster/gifts).



> This work is part of the 2020 MI6 Cafe RBB, and was prompted by the lovely art by mr_quartermaster, which appears at the end of the prologue. The fic has multiple timelines, with the prologue/epilogue taking place in the modern canon-esque verse, and the body of the story being set as an ancient Greek myth. Within the myth itself are alternating chapters of current action and summarized history. The fic is complete. The prologue and first two chapters will post today, then a pair of chapters will post daily until it's done.
> 
> Many thanks to ato-the-bean for beta eyeballs.

* * *

Q saw Bond standing in front of a massive painting on the far side of the museum gallery. He was ignoring the art in favour of scrolling on his phone. Q shook his head in fond exasperation and crossed the room to join him.

"Tanner thinks he's being funny," Bond said without looking up from his phone.

Tanner had selected both the museum and the specific piece of art where Q was to meet with Bond to deliver his kit. 

"Oh?" Q replied.

"The painting," Bond said, gesturing at the framed canvas in front of him. 

Q glanced at the artwork and kept from rolling his eyes. Just. He looked at the information placard.

_The Demigod Meets Eros Upon Ares' Throne_

"We could tell him, you know," Q said mildly. "He might stop trying to get us together if he knew we were seeing each other."

"Where's the fun in that?" James asked, turning to Q with a playful smirk. “I’m waiting for someone in that building full of bloody _spies_ to see what’s been going on right under their noses for months.”

"You're a menace," Q replied fondly. "What are you reading?"

"I’m trying to find the myth depicted in the painting," James answered. "I don’t recognize it."

"Know lots of myths, do you?"

"Didn't you go through a Greek mythology phase as a boy?" James asked. "I thought everyone did. Greek, then Roman, then some went on to Norse while others went to Egyptian, or Native American."

Q shrugged. ”Which way did you go, then?" he deflected. "Norse, Egyptian, or Native American?"

"Celtic," James replied.

Q smiled. Trust James to blaze his own path. Though, given it’s James, that particular path might have been predicted.

"I'll let Tanner know he should try arranging drops in front of paintings depicting the Tuatha Dé, then, shall I?"

"Aye," James replied, letting a hint of a Scottish burr creep into his speech. "Have him find us a painting of Aengus Og and Cú Chulainn."

Q couldn't help the shiver that crept up his spine at James' accent. He shot James a mock glare as the spy noticed it and chuckled.

"Why those two?"

"God of love and youth, demigod warrior," James said with a shrug, eyeing the painting again before scrolling a bit farther into the information displayed on his phone. "Tanner's not wrong."

"I'm not a god of love," Q spluttered.

“Aren’t you?” James asked, looking up.

Q caught his gaze and was caught by Bond’s in turn. He grinned.

  



	2. Chapter 2

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

James spun around, drawing his sword, shield held at the ready. The path behind him was empty.

“It’s really not the smartest idea you’ve ever had.”

He turned again, eyes scanning the hillside. The voice had been close, almost whispering in his ear. Aside from a lizard scrambling over a rock, however, there was nothing to see.

“Keep looking,” the voice said. “But think about what you’re doing. Hunting gods won’t end well for you.”

James sheathed his sword and glared at the air.

“If I die, it’s in service to a greater good,” James answered, starting to walk again.

“Killing love is a ‘greater good’?” the voice asked, amused.

“If you believe otherwise, spirit, you’ve never known love.”

The voice did not reply, but James doubted that he was alone. Whoever the spirit was, it appeared they were along for the ride. Walk. Whatever. James didn’t care, so long as they didn’t try to stop him. And if they did? Well. Fighting a spirit would be good practice for killing a god.


	3. Chapter 3

_He’d been born in the southern foothills of the Pindus mountains. It was rugged territory, but his parents had made their home there, settling into the small village easily. Their neighbours had welcomed them and rejoiced with them at the birth of their son._

_His father had taught him how to hunt and how to fight. He could handle a bow and bring down game, handle the blades to butcher it, and handle a sword to defend himself and his family, thanks to his father’s tutelage._

_His mother had taught him wildcrafting. She’d shown him how to garden in the summer, how to irrigate and rotate crops, and what useful plants could still be found and harvested during the long, snowy winters._

_They’d loved him well, and he’d love them back fiercely, with every breath._

_He’d been orphaned shortly after his eleventh birthday. He’d been away from home when it happened. A sickness swept the village, leaving nineteen dead. The death toll would have been higher, old Kincade told him, if his parents hadn’t taken to providing care to those struck down by the illness that eventually claimed them. James was heartbroken at the loss and, with the absolute certainty of a child, was sure he would never love as strongly or hurt as greatly ever again._


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re heading for trouble.”

James refused to flinch at the return of the voice. He didn’t bother to look for the speaker. Though it sounded as though it was walking companionably alongside him, he knew there would be nothing to see.

“Trouble is in every direction; it takes no skill to find it,” he replied.

“True enough,” the voice replied. “And in your case, given your foolhardy mission, it wouldn’t matter if you encountered naught but friendly faces and helping hands along the way. You’re bringing trouble with you. I did have something a bit more immediate in mind, however.”

The words were uttered with a kind of sharpness that spoke of alarm. As though the spirit were concerned about something. About him? It had kept him company these last few days, it’s presence only revealed when it spoke, which it only ever did to try to dissuade him from his chosen task. Given its disapproval of his goal, James could not imagine that the spirit cared one way or another for his survival. And yet ...

He paused in his steady pace, head cocked, listening. Not for the spirit, whose movement was as silent as it was invisible. He listened for whatever it was that had caught the spirit’s attention.

After a moment he heard a soft whicker.

“A horse?” he asked quietly.

“Mule. Pack animal. Four men. Bit rough looking. Well-armed. They’ve not seen you yet, but they will if you keep going.”

“So? Then they see me.”

“Did you miss the part where I said they were four to your one, and well-armed?”

“I’ve faced worse odds.”

“I know,” the voice said in a tone of exasperated pride. “The short one with blond hair is blind on the left side.”

James grunted acknowledgement and moved forward. He saw the ambush they had planned and grinned.

Three hours later he slid his bag from the mule’s back and shouldered it. It was slightly heavier now with the weight of the brigands’ food and wine. He gave the animal a smart smack on the rump to send her ambling toward the village he could see down the hill.

“Why not go into the town?” the voice asked as he began walking.

“Not in the mood for company,” James replied.

“Is that your polite way of asking me to leave?”

“I doubt you’ll leave until you’ve a mind to, whether I’m polite or not.”

“True.”

The spirit didn’t speak again, but James knew it was still there. He kept walking.


	5. Chapter 5

_After the loss of his parents, he stayed briefly with the neighbour who had fetched him home. Kincade sent word to his closest relatives, and when a response came from his father’s sister, James was still too wrapped in the pain of bereavement to truly mourn the loss of the familiar village. Nor, when Kincade delivered him into the care of his aunt, was he able to acknowledge the ache when his old neighbour departed. It was pain on top of pain, and he couldn’t distinguish between them._

_His aunt did her best for him, but hardly knew what to do with a damaged pre-teen boy who was surly and sad by turns. After a year, she sent him up the mountain to stay with a family friend and his son._

_James hadn’t meant to grow attached to the man who took him in and raised him as his own. He honestly hadn’t thought it possible to care so deeply again, and hadn’t realized how close they’d become until an avalanche stole his foster family from him. He was older then. A youth, nearly grown. He grieved the loss of his foster father, and even mourned for the foster brother who had been both his companion and chief tormentor._

_He murmured prayers through his pain that the gods might give their souls peace and pleasure in the afterlife. He knew, this time, that his pain would ease in time, but he vowed to try harder to protect his heart.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

"It's drugged," the spirit whispered in his ear.

James managed not to startle at the voice, or its message, and smiled across the fire to the man he'd just beaten in a friendly game of Petteia as he accepted a cup of wine from the man's wife.

He'd overtaken them on the road the day before. They were travelling in the same direction, at least for a little while, and had decided to keep company until the road forked and the couple headed east while James continued south.

It turned out that Chiffre was a keen game player, eager to engage James in jackstones and dice. He’d been thrilled to learn that James had a Petteia game in his pack. 

It also turned out that Chiffre didn’t like to lose.

The spirit had been silent since James had fallen in with the couple, but he’d known that it was close. Given its apparent determination to talk him out of his goal, it could be counted on to stick with him until the deed was done.

The whispered warning was evidence that he’d been correct.

"Thank you," he said, putting the cup down next to the scrap of leather that made up his game board and climbing slowly to his feet.

"I'll just be a moment," he said, gesturing at the shadows outside the circle of firelight, "then I'll be back to offer you the opportunity to win your purse back."

"Of course," the man responded as his wife joined him on the other side of the fire.

James turned and walked into the darkness, listening for any indication that either the man or his wife were following him. He heard only the sound of his own footsteps.

“Poisoned?” he asked the darkness. “Why?”

“He doesn’t lose well,” the voice replied. “He takes it out on her. She’s trying to give him an advantage. If he wins, she wins. You lose. The game, your purse, your life … I’m not sure, actually, how far he’d go if he had you at a disadvantage.”

James considered this. He wasn’t sure he could blame the woman for trying to save herself at his expense, but he was not about to drink drugged wine and put himself and his mission at Chiffre’s mercy.

He returned to the campfire and settled himself clumsily, knocking into the cup and spilling the drugged wine. He refused the offer of a refill, instead passing his own wine skin to them to share. The evening passed companionably.

When Chiffre attempted to attack him in the night, James slipped a dagger between his ribs. He left the woman with their goods and her freedom in the morning. She cursed him for it as he walked away.


	7. Chapter 7

_Following the death of his foster family, James wanted a change of scenery. He left the mountains behind and journeyed to the sea. He signed on to a merchant ship trading in spices and cloth among the ports on the Ionian sea._

_The work was demanding, but it was rewarding as well. He earned the respect of the crew, made friends, and took his first lovers among the men and women at the docks where the ship called. He never stayed on the same ship for more than a year, insisting that he wanted to see more of the world than the same trading routes again and again. It was a good life, and he enjoyed it, but he kept everything casual, refusing to let anyone get too close._

_That practice came to an end during a routine stop near the end of James’ time on the fifth ship on which he’d served. James met a young woman in Syracuse who captivated him. She was in the city with her father, a minor lord from a small island in the Tyrrhenian Sea. The ship was scheduled to be in port for a week, unloading its wares, and loading new cargo for the next trip._

_When the ship left at the end of that week, James was not aboard._

_There had only been a month left in his contract. The captain had expected him to leave when they reached their next port of call. James notified the captain of his changed plans and helped find a new hand to join the crew. He didn’t watch the ship sail away. He was otherwise occupied escorting Tracy through the Syracuse markets._

_Tracy’s father’s business in Syracuse lasted for three months. James spent that time falling head-over-heels in love with her and doing everything in his power to impress her father. When the time came for them to return to Corsica, James was invited to join them. Six months after that, he and Tracy were married._

_A businessman unhappy with the regulations and taxes her father had recently established for his lands attacked them on their way home from the wedding. James fought them off, but Tracy’s horse was spooked, and she fell, striking her head on a rock._

_James lost his wife before he had a chance to be her husband.  
_


	8. Chapter 8

“There’s a spring not far from here, if you can stand company.”

James paused, glancing at the landscape before him. Since his encounter with Chiffre and his wife he’d eschewed roads and paths, choosing to take a more direct, less populated route to his destination, cross country. The land was hardly barren, covered with scrub brush and squat trees, but it was nevertheless empty of surface water.

His water skin was not yet empty, but it would be very soon.

“Where?” he asked the spirit.

“About two leagues from here, if you angle your path slightly to the north.”

James altered his direction slightly and started walking again.

“What company will I meet there?”

“An old woman.”

“Alone?”

“She has visitors on occasion. One of the local lords sometimes consults with her.

“Is she a priestess, then? An oracle?”

“Not an oracle, no. Nor, she would say, a priestess, though her devotion to her people might well be a form of worship to the goddess of country and boundaries.”

James considered this and kept walking. He had no quarrel with Hecate, or Hestia, nor any other goddess of hearth or homeland.

James arrived at a clearing as afternoon shaded into evening. He found a small house there, with a messy, overgrown garden surrounding a well that must encircle the spring the spirit had mentioned. On a small rise a few hundred metres away he could see an old temple, clearly disused but not fallen into disrepair. There was an air of the sacred still around it.

The old woman was called Olivia. She was small and fierce, and James liked her immediately. He recognized something of a kindred spirit in her devotion to her chosen duty. He'd felt that sort of intensity a dozen times in his life, and had the inspiration for it ripped away again and again. Now he was left only with his own chosen duty. He was determined now to accomplish his task, but he held no enthusiasm for it.

In spite of her sharp tongue and stern disposition, she was a hospitable hostess. James wondered if her welcome was at all influenced by the presence of the spirit at his side. From the way her eyes flickered away from him to follow other movement, he suspected that she could see the being that had been his invisible companion.

She offered him dinner, and a spot by her hearth for the night, and in return, he promised to patch a hole in the roof before he continued on his way the next morning.

"Where are you headed, then, that brings you this close to nowhere?" she asked as she cleared away the dishes from their shared meal.

"Thespiae, to the temple of Eros," James replied.

She snorted and turned toward the kitchen.

"Of course you are. You plan to ask his blessing on your efforts to woo your love, no doubt."

"I plan to kill him," James responded, bringing her up short.

"You what?" she asked in shocked surprise.

Before James could answer, the spirit made a sound like a hissing breath. His anger was obvious, nearly palpable, though unseen.

"What is it?" James asked, hand falling to the hilt of his sword.

"A dozen men with ill intent, armed, coming here with great haste. They will arrive within the hour."

James glanced back at Olivia. His hostess met his gaze resolutely, appearing unsurprised by the news. There was fear in her eyes, but there was steel, too. There was nothing here but the old temple, and no one here but her. It was clear that she was the target of the approaching force, and just as clear that she had no plans to run.

Neither did he.

“Weapons?” James asked, looking around the small house to see how best to fortify it.

In the end, James laid traps in the clearing and the house while Olivia made her way to the temple. The lingering blessing on the building would deter most from attacking any who might be sheltering within, and if they tried, it was more easily fortified than the small cottage.

It was full dark by the time the first attackers arrived. They fell prey to James’ traps. The second wave was on their guard, but the spirit whispered in James’ ear and led him to them. He fell upon them with stealth and skill, and they did not rise again.

Another group of men came to the clearing from another direction, to be caught by an explosion in the garden.

James smiled grimly. The device he’d built at the spirit’s urging had worked. The spirit made a pleased sound beside him, then growled fiercely and was gone.

James didn’t know quite how he knew that the spirit had left him, but he felt the absence at his side. He ran for the temple on the hill, certain that he would find whatever had caused the spirit to leave there with Olivia.

He wasn’t wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

_James left Corsica after Tracy died. He eventually found himself in Etruria. The locals were looking for help in fighting off marauders, and James took up a sword to aid them. He joined a small band patrolling the roads and fighting off those who would attack the Etruscan villages._

_As with sailing, the work was physically demanding, and he appreciated the flush of adrenaline that came with it. Once again he was determined not to stay in one place for too long, unwilling to put down roots or form any sort of attachment._

_When a larger army came recruiting, he joined it. While he would not allow himself to grow close to anyone, he was determined in the pursuit of his cause. When he signed on with the company, though he kept them at arms’ length, he was loyal to the core, willing to give his life for his fellows and the land they fought for._

_That, at least, was a love he could hold on to._

_Chance put him back to back with a blond-haired, green-eyed man in a fierce battle against an overwhelming force. They defended each other and survived. They kept company with one another, after._

_James lost Alec a year later. They’d been shield brothers, best friends and occasional lovers, but James kept his heart to himself. He thought whatever curse seemed to dog his footsteps would overlook his friendship with Alec. He’d thought wrong. And when Alec fell to his death he knew that no matter what lies he’d told himself, a part of his heart died as well.  
_


	10. Chapter 10

James arrived to find Olivia standing at the far end of the temple, near the altar. She didn’t glance at him as he skidded to a halt in the doorway. Her gaze was fixed on the man stalking slowly toward her, a predator approaching his prey. 

The man paused at James’ arrival, turning to give him a cursory look before dismissing him and turning back to Olivia. He’d been speaking the whole time, his tone chiding as he addressed Olivia to catalogue the many ways she had failed him.

James hardly heard the words. They didn’t matter. What mattered was intent, and it was clear he wished her harm. When he had glanced at James his eyes had been filled with fury, and hurt, and cunning, and madness.

James did not hesitate, did not pause to worry about spilling blood in a sacred space. The man’s presence there was profane, his intentions obscene. Regardless of the consequences, James would not let him succeed. Pulling a knife from his belt he threw it squarely at the man’s back. 

The man, who had clearly been enamoured with the sound of his own voice, stopped his monologue and turned in clear surprise. He gaped at James for a moment, then fell to the floor, and did not move again. 

“Olivia?” James asked as he crouched over the body, checking the pulse.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“She’s hurt,” the voice said.

“Snitch,” she groused, holding a hand to her side. “It’s nothing.”

James stepped over the fallen man to look at the wound. It wasn’t ‘nothing’, but it wasn’t serious. They left the body where it lay and made their way back through the dark to the house. 

“His name was Tiago. He worked for me, once upon a time,” Olivia said as she leaned on James. “I had high hopes for him, but he got involved in things he shouldn’t. Exposed our strategies to unacceptable risks. Got himself into trouble in the end. I didn’t send help. I could have, but the cost was too high. Lives would have been lost to reclaim him, and he’d have gone on getting into trouble, bringing it home.”

James nodded. He understood better, now, the feeling of kinship. She may not have been military, but she had commanded forces and made decisions for the good of the whole, sometimes at the expense of the few. Those decisions were never easy, but they were necessary.

The man in the temple had been sacrificed for the good of the country Olivia served. He’d survived and held a grudge.

They returned to the house and cleaned and bandaged her wound. After he left her in her room and made himself comfortable on blankets in front of the hearth, James wondered if there were others like Tiago who would target Olivia. He wondered if that’s why she lived here, alone and far from everything.

“He was hidden from me,” the spirit said as James lay down. “Another being shielded him from my perception. I felt his men approach, but didn’t feel him until he entered the temple.”

“An impressive benefactor, then,” James mused.

“Hmm. A powerful one,” the spirit agreed. “There are few capable of such a display.”

James wondered at that. It didn’t feel like an idle boast.

“Then it shouldn’t be difficult to determine who it was,” he reasoned. “Any ideas?”

“A couple,” the spirit replied. “One in particular stands out. He wants something I’d prefer he not have, though I don’t know if his patronage of this attack is in relation to that or merely coincidence.”

“What does he want?”

“An unstoppable force bent to his will.”

“I’m not in favour of him having that, whoever he is,” James said, yawning. “Nothing good will come of it.”

“No, nothing will,” the spirit agreed. “Good night, James.”


	11. Chapter 11

_Ronson was a protege of sorts. A skilled fighter with a head for tactics. He’d been assigned to James to train in strategic thinking._

_They’d spent long hours together, poring over reports or laying out plans for imagined attacks. Planning for being besieged in Sparta, or Delphi, or Ravenna, or for laying siege to Trieste or Knossos. They discussed battles on land and at sea, types of weapons and defenses against them, and how to command. How to lead._

_Ronson was his student and became his friend. He showed great promise. James was proud of how much he’d learned and was eager to see how much he’d accomplish._

_He didn’t get the chance._

_Ronson was killed in an ambush as he attempted to retrieve sensitive documents. They’d been stolen from the king of a small island by a former soldier who hoped to sell the information to a rival kingdom. No amount of skill or strength or strategy could overcome treachery._

_When James received the news of Ronson’s death, he’d stepped in to complete Ronson’s mission. He’d killed both the thief and the rival lord, and destroyed the documents._

_Mission accomplished, he kept moving.  
_


	12. Chapter 12

James continued his journey to Thespiae late in the day after the attack on Olivia. He’d spent the morning dragging the bodies of the attackers to a spot near the edge of the clearing. He had just begun breaking ground for a grave when the spirit spoke, alerting him that friends were approaching.

“Friends?”

“Allies,” the spirit corrected.

“Yours?”

“Olivia’s. They’ve come to help.”

“Their timing’s a bit shit,” James said, thrusting the spade into the soil and wiping his hands on his shirt.

The spirit laughed. James startled at the sound. He’d heard the spirit speak in tones of anger, or frustration, or exasperation —even amusement. But he’d never heard it laugh. He smiled at the sound.

“They came as quickly as they could. Given they didn’t even know to come until last night, they’ve made good time.”

“How did they know to come at all?”

“I told them.”

“Of course you did,” James replied, climbing out of the pit he’d dug.

He walked past the bodies he’d gathered from across the clearing. He’d leave them, and the body still lying in the temple, for the approaching allies to deal with. He had a leaky roof to fix.

Olivia waited for him at the bottom of the ladder as he made his way down from the roof, his promised task complete.

“This quest you’re on is misguided,” she said bluntly. “You should reconsider what you’re doing and why, and think about who benefits from it.”

James drew himself up and looked at Olivia coolly. She meant well, he knew, but he had his reasons and would not be swayed.

“You’ll only hurt yourself,” she said with a sigh as he turned away.

“I already have, over and over again,” he replied, putting down the hammer and moving to collect his gear. “It has to stop.”

She watched him, glancing back and forth between him and something he couldn’t see. She shook her head.

“Your roof is fixed,” he said as he shouldered his pack. “Your allies approach. Thank you for your hospitality, Olivia. I wish you well.”

“I wish the same for you,” she replied. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

He chuckled and gave her a brief nod before he turned away. His water skin was full, and he was walking again. Thespiae was a week away.


	13. Chapter 13

_Her name was Vesper. He met her in Venetia. She had a troubled past casting long shadows she was determined to escape._

_She was sharp smiles and barbed words and teasing glances. She refused to spend her life constantly looking over her shoulder, always focusing forward instead. Bold and brash and occasionally fragile, she was a challenge and a delight._

_James knew that her enthusiasm for life was occasionally forced, but he loved her for her determination to wrestle with her demons. He knew that she loved him as well as she was able._

_They were happy._

_Then she'd betrayed him to save his life, before taking her own to prevent him from rescuing her._

_He found the ghosts from her past that had come back to haunt her to the end, and laid them to rest.  
_


	14. Chapter 14

“You’re sure?” James asked the spirit as he eyed the hillside before him.

“Very. It’s unstable. A lizard twitching its tail beneath a rock could set it off. The shadow of a hunting hawk might even be enough. It’s not safe.”

“You’re not just saying that to add days to my journey as a way to dissuade me?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” the spirit replied, offended. “I want you to reconsider and set aside your mad plans. But I won’t stop you or impede you if you choose to go on.”

James sighed. He believed the spirit, both about the precariousness of the shale hillside, and about its honourable intentions.

“Apologies,” James said. “I _do_ know that. I don’t know quite how I know it, just as I don’t know why you help me in the first place.”

“I can’t talk you out of your foolhardy errand if you’re dead,” the voice answered.

“Why do you care,” James demanded. “You say it’s impossible. That I’ll get myself killed. What’s that to you?”

The spirit was silent for a few moments. James wondered if it would answer at all.

“You have such enormous love and loyalty in you,” the voice said. “And it has been horribly abused. But not, I think, by those on whom you lay blame.”

“No?” James asked.

“No. Think about it,” the voice urged. “What does Love stand to gain by giving you your heart’s desire and then yanking it away again?”

“Amusement, I should think,” James replied. “Toying with mortals has always been a pastime of the gods.”

“The younger gods, perhaps,” the voice agreed. “Still children with spots.”

“Oh? Love is too mature for such games?” James asked derisively. “A wise old greybeard?”

“No beard, grey or otherwise. Wise? Perhaps. Old? Most definitely. He was one of the first beings born out of the void. Self taught because there was no one else to teach him. I wonder sometimes if the younger gods might be better —kinder— if he’d let them fend for themselves instead of trying to teach them and spare them their mistakes,” the voice replied musingly. “Either way, he does not use mortals as playthings for his entertainment. His purpose is to bring joy to life through love.”

James was quiet for a minute, then shook his head.

“He has given me a life filled with love, but each time I find it, he takes it away.”

“It has been stolen from you,” the voice agreed solemnly. “But not by him.”

James said nothing. He sat, staring at the slope before him, thinking.

The spirit had admitted that its goal was to dissuade him from his purpose, but it had helped him time and again. It led him to resources and gave him intel. It kept him company, but also gave him space, seeming to know what he needed and respecting that need. In the weeks that he’d travelled with the spirit at his side, he’d grown to accept the presence, and expect it.

He’d come to like it. To appreciate, and even enjoy, its company. He thought, perhaps, he might trust it.

He _wanted_ to trust it.

Could it possibly be right about Love? And if it was, then who was responsible for the way disaster befell those he loved. Was it about them? About love? About him?

He turned away from the shale slope and took the long way down.


	15. Chapter 15

_After his parents and his foster family; after Tracy and Alec and Ronson; after Severine and Vesper and Jack; after his family, his friends, and his lovers, James finally acknowledged the truth. He was not able to **not** love. He fell hard, and he fell fast. He cared deeply, and loved completely. He knew pain would follow, but since he couldn’t avoid it, he told himself that the joy he felt now was worth the hurt later._

_He didn’t quite believe it, but whether he believed it or not didn’t matter. He’d fall in love regardless, be hurt regardless._

_His name was Felix. They’d met when James returned to sailing with merchant ships after leaving Venetia. Felix was washed overboard during a storm. James got a rope to him and had begun hauling him back to safety when a telltale dorsal fin appeared, cutting through the water._

_Her name was Eve. She'd stepped in to assist him when a fight was going poorly, and while her aim might leave something to be desired, the result was what mattered. They worked together for a while, partners, then friends. He hadn't gotten to explore the possibility that their flirting might lead to something else._

_Her name was Kissy. Her name was Madeleine. His name was Rene. Her name was Camille._

_He loved them. They died._

_He was near Skadar Lake in northern Illyria when his lover died. In his grief and rage, he set himself a task. Shouldering his bag, he started walking south._

_James couldn’t stop loving. So he decided to stop Love.  
_


	16. Chapter 16

James arrived in Thespiae. The end of his quest was just around the corner, literally.

“You won’t find him here,” the spirit said as he approached the temple.

“Why not? This is his central temple.”

“Nevertheless, you won’t find him here.”

James stopped and turned, wishing he knew where to look to glare at the spirit.

“You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Do you know where he can be found?” James asked.

“In the temple of the one who hopes to turn your anger to his purposes. To make you his weapon.”

James growled, but his anger was fleeting. He wasn’t angry with the spirit, anyway. The spirit had continued to try to dissuade him, but it had never acted against him. It had, in fact, helped him several times on his journey. It had been a boon companion, both in its silences and its conversation. So, while James was not happy with the news it gave him, he was not unhappy with the spirit.

“Can you tell me plainly where I can find him?” James pressed. “Or is that not permitted?”

“There is no prohibition against it,” the spirit answered. “But I think it best if you discover the answer yourself. You have all the information you need, James. Truly.”

James clenched his fists. Perhaps he _was_ a bit angry with the spirit.

“James. Please.”

That brought him up short. The spirit had asked him for nothing in the time it had spent with him, and now it begged? For what? Not that he should give up his quest, not exactly. But that he should think through what he was doing, and why, and who benefited from it.

“After the attack at Olivia’s cottage you said Tiago had been hidden from you by ... divine influence,” James said slowly.

“I did,” the spirit agreed.

James nodded.

“You also said that god wanted something you didn’t want him to have. A weapon of some sort. And you've indicated that somehow his getting it has something to do with me. With my history and the purpose it’s given me.”

“Yes.”

“This god wants something from me.”

“Not exactly,” the spirit corrected. “He doesn’t want something from you, he wants you. He wants the weapon you’ll become as a god-slayer.”

“He’s taken love from me again and again to push me to this course,” James speculated. “Fed my anger with Love and sent me to assassinate him, thinking to claim me afterwards, to use me.”

“Yes, exactly,” the spirit said, clearly relieved at James’ conclusion.

“Well, he can’t have me.”


	17. Chapter 17

_It didn’t matter that James had never seen the spirit that has been his companion for these last many weeks._

_The spirit had been a friend. It had called him out on his foolishness, guided him to resources, warned him of troubles, chatted with him, or been silent when James needed silence. It had been a voice in his ear that James had come to trust, and to treasure._

_James was true to his nature, falling hard for the voice that spoke with amused fondness, or rueful exasperation, or concern. It knew who and what he was, and what he had meant to do, and it cared for him._

_James knew better than to deny that he cared as well._

_Loved.  
_


	18. Chapter 18

“I am sorry,” the voice said.

“What for?” James asked as he approached the temple of Ares. It had taken only a few hours to journey from Thespiae to Thebes, a city said to be founded by the God of War.

“Anything you see inside that causes you doubt, or hurt, or anger.”

James stopped walking and turned to face the direction from which he’d heard the voice.

“I don’t doubt you.”

He felt the spirit shiver at his words, and then it was gone.

James turned back to the temple. Pushing the doors open, he stepped over the threshold.

He ignored the winged youth lounging on the throne, toying with a shining arrow, gave only a brief glance to the lion lolling on the floor in front of him, and focused on the unimpressive man who stood to the side of the room with an affable expression that set James’ teeth on edge. He drew his sword as he crossed the room, stopping close enough to the lion that he could feel the warmth emanating from its golden hide. The man just smiled at him.

"Godhunter," the man greeted politely. "Your quarry awaits your judgement and his punishment for the sport he's made of your life."

"Not him," James replied absently as he stared intently at the man who stared back, untroubled.

He reminded James of someone. Someone he hadn’t seen in years. Someone who’d died when James was barely grown. He was too young, though. It couldn’t be—

“Franz,” James said, caught between wonder and wariness.

“Hello, James.”

“You died,” James said, frowning. “You and your father both, in the rockslide.”

“He died, it’s true,” Franz agreed with a shrug. “Good riddance.”

“Good—?” James echoed, shocked.

“It was my third attempt,” Franz replied. “Engineering that rockslide was a nightmare.”

James stared, appalled.

“You killed him? Your own father?”

“A much-deserved punishment,” Franz said with a bland smile. “That it pained you was a bonus.”

His pleasant tone made James’ skin crawl.

“Punishment?” he said. “For what?”

“For bringing you into the nest. For treating you as his own. He had a son! He didn’t need you!”

A bit of indignation and outrage crept into the otherwise uninflected tone. The emotion did nothing to make Franz seem more human.

“He didn’t,” James agreed. “I needed him.”

“I know,” Franz replied, tone bland once again. “Poor orphan boy, so broken by the loss of his parents. Knowing that my father’s death would break you all over again was what finally convinced me it was worth it. After all, he couldn’t learn from his mistakes after he was dead, but you could carry that hurt with you for the rest of your life.”

James growled, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. The lion blinked and shifted, pushing up from its sprawl to sit and regard him balefully. The youth on the throne set the arrow aside with a clatter. James glanced over at the sound. His gaze stuttered briefly, until the youth caught his eyes and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and looked back over to Franz, who had ignored their unspoken exchange as he continued speaking.

“And then, of course, I had to follow you, to see how that pain affected you. To watch it gnaw away at you.

“But it didn’t,” Franz spat, anger cracking through his facade. “You forgot your hurts in the face of new love, and I couldn’t let that stand. Let you leave behind the memory of the man who took you in as a snivelling orphan!”

James itched to cut Franz down. The lion appeared supremely satisfied with the situation, eyes half-lidded but intent on James as it stood and stretched before circling him. It radiated approval, but a twitch of feathers in James’ peripheral vision reminded him that the winged god had cautioned him against that action.

He recalled Tiago in the abandoned, but still holy, temple near Olivia’s house. James had spilled blood, taken a life there, but it had been in defense of another. It was not sanctioned, but it could be overlooked. Even forgiven. But here? Franz was clearly in service to Ares, and in his temple. No matter that the lion seemed keen on the idea, attacking Franz would not end well for him.

James glanced at the winged youth and caught the pleased and almost proud look expressed in the tiniest quirk of his lips.

“No,” Franz continued, drawing James attention back. “You couldn’t be allowed to forget your pain. It had to be kept fresh.”

“Tracy,” James said. “You did something. You killed her.”

Franz smiled, nodding.

“I stirred up sentiment against her father’s laws and suggested that she’d be a good hostage to use as leverage to force him to change them. I stayed in the shadows while they drew your attention with their attack. I darted the horse and made him rear up … and down your dear newly wedded wife fell.”

“And Alec?”

“Darts are marvelous things,” Franz replied. “Good not only for startling horses into rearing, but for delivering paralytics. It was ridiculously easy to tip his unresponsive body off the side of that bridge.”

“You’re deranged,” James said.

“I’m perfectly sane,” Franz disagreed mildly. “I just don’t like you, and I’ve decided to make you pay for my father’s death.”

“ _You_ killed him. You killed them all. It was never him,” James said, gesturing toward the god on the throne without looking at him. “It was always you.”

“It was,” Franz confirmed. “I killed them all, or had them killed. I did need help with a few. I don’t command sharks, after all.”

“That kind of help comes at a price,” James said.

“It does, it does,” Franz replied, smiling. “But you’re a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

The lion roared as Franz launched himself at James.

James lifted his sword but kept it out of the way as he caught Franz with his free hand and spun him around. His leg outstretched, he tripped Franz and followed him to the ground, one hand pinning one of Franz’ wrist to the floor, the other holding his sword at his foster brother’s throat.

“Don’t!” a familiar, beloved voice, cried sharply.

“You are not here to kill him, James,” the winged youth said, rising from the throne.

“Then why am I here?” James demanded, not taking his eyes off of Franz as the spirit that had been his companion, now revealed as the God of Love, approached. “He has manipulated me my whole life, killed dozens of innocents who had the misfortune to be my friends and lovers. He sent me to kill you!”

“He did,” the youth agreed. “That, and more. He made a promise, in this room, to the God of this place.”

James startled at the slide of fingers down his bicep. Beneath his sword, Franz hissed as the blade parted skin. The hand on James’ arm tugged at him, and he allowed himself to be pulled away. He watched as Franz pushed himself up to a seated position, fingers dabbing at the skin of his neck. The cut was shallow and did not bleed.

“James,” the god said, drawing his attention. “You are here to choose. Your actions fulfill his promise, or break it.”

James studied the god before him. He appeared young, though he’d told James he was older than almost everything else in creation. Slender and pale, he had tousled dark hair and eyes that were a mossy sort of green - and an enormous pair of sleek white wings.

“Not a greybeard,” James murmured, startling a laugh out of the god.

“No,” he agreed.

James glanced over to where Franz sat, frowning at him and the lion who paced behind him.

“His promise to Ares,” James mused, tapping the flat of his sword idly against his thigh. “Was about me, and the actions I might choose to take here, against you. His promise in exchange for Ares’ help.”

“It was.”

“He promised to make me a god-killer. A weapon for Ares to use. You gave me love, over and over again. And he killed all whom I loved to manipulate me to this course.”

“He did,” the god said, giving James a wistful smile. “I won’t run. I won’t fight.”

“Good to know,” James said, lifting his sword—

—and sliding it into its scabbard.

“I won’t kill you.”

He extended a hand, wiggling his fingers a bit to make the god laugh as he reached out to clasp it. James laced their fingers together and gave a tiny tug, pulling the god close before turning and leading him out of the temple. Behind them, Franz screamed.

They strolled from the temple into the Theban streets, drawing no attention from passers-by.

“Are you invisible again?” James asked. “To them?”

“We both are,” the god replied, “for now.”

The god drew to a stop, his wings flaring out briefly before settling back behind his shoulders. James turned, eyes drifting from the god’s open expression to their joined hands and back again.

“James. I want—”

He stopped himself, shaking his head.

“Tell me,” James said, giving the hand in his a squeeze.

The god huffed a breath and met his gaze.

“You should know that I love you. Have loved you for ages. You drew my attention years ago with the fierceness of your love. You love absolutely and are glorious in your loyalty and your devotion. A beacon in the darkness that I couldn’t help but be drawn to, like a moth to a flame. You are love, and as I am love, I couldn’t do otherwise but to love you.

“I regret that for all the abilities at my fingertips, I could not stop your brother and his patron from causing you pain.”

“You’re not all-powerful,” James replied. “Not even Zeus can claim that.”

“Still. Love is my domain, and it hurt you.”

“Franz hurt me, with Ares’ help,” James said. “You gave me love again after the loss. Every time.”

James smiled as he watched the god consider his words.

“Every time? Even after—”

“I will always love them. All of them. And I will always miss them. But love always finds me. And now, I’ve found _him_.”

The god’s smile was somehow both shy and brilliant. James leaned in to taste it.

The kiss was sweet.


	19. Epilogue

Q glanced up at the sharp rap on his door, then rolled his eyes as the door was opened before he could respond. He saw R standing behind Bond, an apologetic look on her face. Bond, naturally, was smirking.

“What do you have for me?” he asked as he nodded a dismissal R, who pulled the door closed after Bond entered.

Bond tossed a broken earwig and a phone with a cracked screen onto Q’s desk, then slipped his Walther out of his holster. It had gone a round with a combine and survived. Mostly.

Q accepted the damaged kit back with an aggrieved sigh. Bond winked and made himself comfortable on the couch that had migrated into Q’s office.

“I did some reading on the flight,” Bond said as Q expertly broke down the Walther and inspected the damage.

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

“More mythology. Finally found the story that painting was about. Made me think maybe Tanner already knows.”

Q looked up at that, wondering how the myth might have led Bond to that conclusion, and also curious to see whether Bond was at all put out by the possibility that their relationship was known.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Turns out that the demigod in the painting had travelled for weeks in the company of a spirit that was nothing but a voice in his ear. An unwelcome companion at first, he grew to trust it as time passed. It became a friend. And by the time they’d reached his destination, he’d fallen in love.”

“With an unseen spirit?”

“With the voice in his ear,” James replied. “A situation with which I am intimately familiar.”

Q put the disassembled gun down and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on the legs of his trousers.

They’d never used the words before.

He saw James watching him process what had been said, the spy’s usual smirk softened into a fond smile.

“Your voice in my ear, all snark and annoyance and exhilaration, always guiding me through the obstacles to complete the job and come home safely. I was in love with your voice, and your mind, and your stubborn determination, long before we came together.”

“And after?” Q asked, rising and crossing the room to stand in front of James, smiling hopefully at the bright expression on his face.

“I love you still,” James replied.

Q reached down to cup James’ face, and bent to give him a chaste but lingering kiss.

“I love you, too,” he said, pulling out his phone and sending a quick text.

He showed it to James, who laughed and stood, taking Q’s hand.

“Dinner?”

“Greek?” Q suggested.

“Perfect.”

They exited Q’s office hand-in-hand to the sound of shocked tittering.

At his desk, Tanner pulled out his phone and checked his messages. He smiled.


End file.
